


With satchel and shining morning face

by Sharpiefan



Series: The Shakespeare Series [2]
Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Gen, Non-graphic depictions of bullying, Pre-Canon, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 20:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: Robbie makes a new friend at school





	With satchel and shining morning face

_...Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel_  
_And shining morning face, creeping like snail_  
_Unwillingly to school..._  
\- As You Like It, Act II, Sc. VII 

**Eton, c. May 1793**

It was not difficult to hear the older boys picking on one of the other newcomers yet again. Robbie was late joining them outside because he had been sweating over his maths, yet again. The others had all finished afternoon prep an eternity ago and it had taken him forever to complete the work his maths master had set – and it was bound to be wrong, as usual.

He briefly considered his options. While the boys surrounding the other first-former were not the oldest and most senior scholars, they were all bigger than the new boy (who was maybe a year older than Robbie despite having been put in the same form), and therefore definitely bigger than Robbie himself. Even with Colborne backing him up, he would still be outnumbered – and he had no wish to risk a thrashing from the older scholars when he was facing yet another birching over his arithmetic. Storming into the fray without some sort of a plan was, therefore, stupid. This called for some sort of subtlety and Robbie was not so good at subtlety. 

What would Richard do? 

It was hardly like he could go and ask him directly, either, for he would merely look up from his prep and ask him what he was supposed to do about it before telling Robbie he was quite old enough to stand on his own two feet, to which Lord Hunstanton would merely add the command to clear off if he knew what was good for him. 

No, he had to deal with this on his own. 

With the mood that the older boys seemed to be in, trying to turn the attention to himself was only going to end in tears of his own, he thought. There was another way, though – it was a glorious day and it surely wouldn't take much to distract everyone. He had to find his friend; schemes were always better with someone else. He hadn't got so close to the group that anyone would notice him, and he wasn't going to be long. 

"Hey, Rafe?" 

"Fitzgerald?" 

"Want to play cricket?" He tossed a ball to his friend who snatched it out of the air. 

"Have you actually finished your prep? I waited ages for you and you didn't even see me." 

Robbie sighed. "It's as good as it ever is. Come on." 

"You're scheming, Fitzgerald." 

"So what if I am? It's only a game of cricket, you've never turned a game down before." 

Lord Rafe laughed. "That's true." 

He was a little surprised when Robbie led his way out to the quad, rather than out to the playing-field. The new boy was in the corner, surrounded by two or three older boys, and looked thoroughly miserable. 

Robbie didn't hesitate. "Hey, Sutcliffe! I've been looking for you everywhere!" 

The new boy turned his head, his expression growing even more abject, if it was even possible. 

It seemed more drastic measures were called for. Robbie steeled himself, pushed into the group and slung his arm across Sutcliffe's shoulders. "You're a half-decent batsman, aren't you? Rafe and I were going to bat around a bit, we thought maybe you know something we've not seen before." 

He had managed to steer the other clear of the group of older boys, one arm around his shoulders and the cricket bat carelessly under his other arm the way he'd seen Richard and Hunstanton carrying theirs. 

Sutcliffe gaped at him a little from close quarters, which made Robbie grin. 

"You're Fitzgerald, ain't you... _are not you_?" he said, the Cockney accent a clear indication of one reason the others had decided to make him today's target. "The Earl of Rotherham's son?" 

Robbie grinned. "Aye," he said, drawing the syllable out the way some of the stable-hands at home did. "I am that. I were told thi were a decent hand at t'wicket – or mebbe 'twere t'bowlin'?" 

Sutcliffe's eye widened, and Robbie thought maybe he had over-done it; he had been told over and over not to speak in the Yorkshire accents of his father's servants, that it was highly at odds with the character of a gentleman and unseemly for a person of his rank to speak so. From everything Robbie had heard, it seemed that Sutcliffe had been ragged for much the same thing since his arrival at Eton, although the word 'swot' had also been tossed around, generally by the less studious. 

"Here." Rafe tossed the ball to Sutcliffe, who caught it one-handed. "D'you prefer batting, or bowling?" 

"Rafe-" Robbie began, with a broad smile, indicating his compatriot. 

"Lord Raphael Colborne," that worthy interjected from Sutcliffe's other side, with a grin. 

Robbie ignored the correction. " _Rafe_ is better at bowling, I am a half-decent all-rounder, though I prefer batting." 

"Me too. I mean, I'm better at battin'. I can bowl, but not that good." 

Robbie grinned, sweeping his hair out of his face. "We found out Rafe's a bowler last summer – Father thought it'd be nice for him and Falstone to stay with us over summer, 'cause it's the first time I've had friends from school to have stay. And he knows the Duke of Rothbury, who was quite happy to pack his sons off to us." 

Sutcliffe blinked at the flood of information from his interlocutor. 

"Your father..." he began, slightly hesitantly, looking to the older boy on his other side. 

"Is the Duke of Rothbury," Rafe said. "My brother's the Earl of Falstone,” he added helpfully. "He's twelve, I'm ten." 

"I'm eleven," added Robbie from Sutcliffe's other side. His dark curls seemed to disregard all attempts to tidy them out of their owner's face. "My father's the Earl of Rotherham, and my older brother's Viscount Surrey. _He_ 's fifteen and stuck inside with a book 'cause he's going to matriculate and go to Oxford." 

Sutcliffe seemed to be struggling with the fact that he had been rescued – or been summarily kidnapped for a game of cricket – by two scions of the aristocracy, and one of them the son of a _Duke._

"I don't think they mean anything _bad_ ," Robbie said, glancing behind them to where the other boys were following. "If you're any good at cricket, they'll get to like you. _I_ like you already." 

"So do I," Rafe said with a grin that mirrored Robbie's, as they reached the cricket pitch. 

Sutcliffe grinned back at them, deciding that maybe school wouldn't be so bad after all, if he had friends like these. And maybe he could help Fitzgerald with his arithmetic prep this evening. Wasn't that what friends did for each other, after all? 


End file.
